Brass & Gold
by Irinazure
Summary: She's a half breed, a child of two cultures and yet she belongs to neither. The forests and planes of Middle Earth are her home. Now she acts as their shadow, a silent watchman in the dark. Mahal knows she never wanted this, but Gandalf insisted. A story about forgiveness and finding home. Thorin/OC
1. Prologue

**Oh wow, I never thought this day would come so early. I welcome you all to my first Middle Earth fanfic. I originally planned to write this after I'd finished my other stories, but I'm currently in such a Tolkien-fever after watching the Battle of the Five Armies that I couldn't keep myself away from my computer. I won't start posting regularly though because I still want to finish Libras before fully immerging myself into something so different.**

**But that doesn't mean I cannot share the prologue with you, right?**

**I'll try to create a mixture of the films and the book and of course since there's an OC many things will be entirely new and far from either. Regular chapters will be longer than this, around 2000 words. I hope you'll enjoy the start and please let me know what you thought of it. Reviews are a fanfiction writer's payment, so please?**

**Okay, I'll let you read now.  
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**Pronounciation: Cyrka - Kee-r-kah**

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><p>Dwarves are a hardy folk. Everyone knows that. They can endure without the warmth of sunlight for years at a time. They have some of the best craftsmen and fiercest warriors in all of Middle-earth. They are proud, loyal and greedy.<p>

And they value their laws above all else.

Any trespasses are met with unyielding consequences. Those who do not cherish the rules are banished from society. A young dwarrowdam learned this once.

Similar to other races Dwarves have to seek permission from their king to marry. But Dwarves harbour much disdain for those different from themselves and foreign to their culture. So when Cyrka decided to marry she went to King Thror, King under the Mountain. But poor Cyrka, for her loved one was not a dwarf but indeed a hobbit.

Meriagrin Brandybuck was his name and quite a fine fellow he was – outgoing and with a streak for adventure. His peculiarities had sadly made him an outsider amongst his people and so he lived an isolated but happy life as a fisherman in the borders of the Shire.

How the young pair had met no one knew and they did not often talk of it, but within weeks of their meeting they had become quite smitten with each other. But this crush soon developed into deep love and so they made plans for the next step in their relationship.

Cyrka stepped before her king and she talked of her love so fondly that her words could have moved a mountain. But Thror had no place for sympathy in his heart for her. Cyrka walked away that day without the king's permission. But she was headstrong – perhaps too headstrong for her own good.

She walked away and left her home, not to see Erebor for many years to come.

She and Meriagrin married anyway. It was a small ceremony in Meriagrin's garden on a sunny day in June. They had invited some of his closest friends but told nothing to her family. Cyrka had acted against her race's rules and so rendered herself an outlaw in the eyes of her people. But that did not matter to them back then. Cyrka and Meriagrin were happy and in both their hearts rested hope for the future.

A year later those hopes seemed to manifest for in that year they were blessed with the most precious of gifts – a baby girl. A tiny thing she was, with chocolate brown hair and pearl white skin. Her feet were hairless and dainty just like her mother's but she had also inherited the beardless, smooth skin so typical amongst Hobbits. In the eyes of her parents she was perfect beyond all measure. They named her Eleara, after Cyrka's mother. Finally their life was perfect and they thought nothing could ever change their luck.

How wrong they were.

Fifteen years later their luck came to an end. It was a hard winter that year, colder than usual. The snow had blocked all roads in their proximity. Meriagrin became ill with pneumonia but so far away from any town or village there was not much Cyrka could do for him. He died, much too early and greatly mourned by his young wife and daughter. Eleara was young at the time, her aging rate closer to that of dwarves, but she perfectly understood what was going on and the struggle that came after her father's death. Mother and daughter worked hard to provide for their needs but even they reached their limits.

They had few acquaintances and after the death of Meriagrin those became even fewer. Cyrka did not know how long they could continue like this.

And so she decided to do something no Dwarf had ever dared doing before – to ask Thror's forgiveness. What else could she do? Eleara was too young to be forced to work and she would not sit by and watch her daughter fade away through hunger and cold, without a family or friends.

With the first sun rays of spring they took to the road, Eleara excited and Cyrka worried. Her body often shook with fits of coughing and many a night she could hardly close an eye.

Eleara watched silently.

The journey was hard but eventually they reached the Lonely Mountain. Its halls were still as Cyrka remembered them – filled with golden light – and Eleara's big eyes turned to all directions to take in the wonders that surrounded her.

Together they were announced to Thror and they pleaded their case. But even after many years the king's heart was still made of stone. The child was born out of wedlock, he said, for he would not acknowledge Cyrka's marriage. They were a shame to their people. No dwarf of Erebor would be allowed to give them shelter, under threat of exile.

And so they left, abandoned by those who could and should have saved them.

Cyrka grew weaker day after day. Beyond the woods of Mirkwood lay a house. This house belonged to Beorn, the famous shape shifter, and he had watched the pair for quite some time. He took them in, giving them plenty of food and two warm beds. But all this came too late for Cyrka. She breathed her last, unable to cling unto life for the sake of her child.

Eleara was left an orphan at the age of sixteen.

That same year Thror too lost everything. Only months later the dragon Smaug came upon Erebor, driving the people of the mountain away from their home and into an uncertain future.

Eleara spend some time at Beorn's house but soon the wide world beckoned to her. She wandered from east to west and from north to south but she never again found a place she could call home. She never returned to the house of her parents in the Shire and she felt a warm tingle inside her every time she heard from strangers the tale of Erebor and Smaug.

She never forgot how her mother's people had shunned her own kin.

Our story begins many, many years later when a group of thirteen dwarves, a hobbit and a wizard came together to reclaim the Lonely Mountain.


	2. Suicidal Dwarves

**Hello! You guys made me really happy with your reviews/alerts/favourites and so I figured I had to upload again before Christmas just to say thank you. Our story is about to take place and before we proceed there's one point I really need to mention:**

**Ages: Thorin in the book is the oldest of the company with 195 at the beginning of the quest. Obviously they changed the individual ages and sequence quite a bit for the movies and since my story doesn't really work with an old, white-bearded Thorin I'll just to the films' timeline. However the number years that have passed since Smaug's appearance is still the same.  
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**Also there won't be any uploads until beginning of February. I won't have internet acces during that time but I'll have plenty of time to write so prepare yourselves for the quest for Erebor!**

**I wish you all lovely holidays and a happy new year!**

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><p>Eleara watched the two birds flutter around the tree tops. The sun stood high in the May sky, embracing all living things beneath it with its gentle warmth. She lay with her back on the grass, arms folded behind her head and leaning against an oak trunk. The tree was old and compared to her gigantic, its branches expanding over her head like a leafy ceiling.<p>

She was exhausted. Earlier she had bought herself a loaf of bread and had eaten the whole thing in less than twenty minutes. It had not exactly been a princely meal but it was more than what she usually got for a day's ration. After her lunch she had looked for a spot to take a well-earned nap, finding herself in that beautiful state of carelessness between two jobs. The lush fields outside of Bree were a place she always returned to when she needed a time out.

Life on the road was tough but she could not imagine any other. The uncertainty of every day had become a necessity to her, the knowledge that her fate lay in her hands and hers alone. She could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. No one was responsible for her and nor did she not answer to anyone.

She was a master of survival, roaming the roads of Middle Earth in search of food and small but paid jobs. She had a good stamina, was fearless and always focussed. A broad knowledge such as hers and experience were always in demand and she had learned long ago that people were prepared to pay well for her qualifications. But when a job was done and the time came for her to leave no one was sorry.

Eleara made folk nervous.

For one she never mingled with others. Men got better wages and so she had decided early on that it would not do for her to walk around as a woman if she wanted to make a living in the world. Always she wore the oversized hunter's outfit she had once bought at a market in Gondor many years ago. Her dark brown hair she cut down to an inch. To the world she became Mabur, a young lad in search of work. Only she and two others in the world knew of Eleara and they knew how to keep a secret.

There was one thing about her that made the disguise perfect – three ragged lines ran down from the middle of her forehead over her left eye socket and to her jaw. A scar some called a badge of honour and others a deformity. No one in their right mind would believe that a young girl could have faced combat, been slashed through the face and survived. She was lucky that she had not lost the eye that day. She called it her souvenir for the wound had been given to her by a Warg, and a particularly large one it had been. Eleara had learned to live with it, never having much time for vanity anyway. But it made those around her uncomfortable, as if they could not bear to look at her for long lest they should get one as well, especially the women.

She did not mind. Oddly, it kept her safe from unwanted questions. The fewer people talked to her the better.

Instantly she woke from her slumber. She could feel another's presence watching her from afar. Her senses were on edge, listening, her hands ready to fly to the holster that hung around her waist where her twin daggers rested.

"Don't pretend you don't know I'm here. I can hear your heartbeat from here," A deep voice buzzed and made Eleara open her eyes to the tall figure.

"Gandalf! Whatever are you doing in these parts? I haven't seen you in ages."

"Two years to be precise, and I confess I was rather busy. Pleased that you still remember me, my dear." The wizard's tone was unusually light and Eleara thought that he looked a little too carefree for her liking. She did not know Gandalf as a particularly grumpy persona but there was always a reason for his smile and it didn't always have to be a nice one.

"Surely it is no coincidence that we should meet here, is it?"

He looked at her with his knowing eyes. "I wish to hear what you've been up to this time. There's no harm in checking after an old friend."

"No indeed." She raised an eyebrow but did feel happy to see him again. "Well, there's not much I could tell you. The usual, I guess. But what about you? I once heard a rumour that you were sighted in the far North."

"Ah, rumours." He sighed. "One cannot be too careful with them and yet it is always helpful to listen out _for_ them." He sat down by her, his tall form reminding her of the oak they both were now leaning against.

She would not let go of the subject. Gandalf's stories were always the most entertaining ones and she could do with one now. When she had been younger and had yet to see the far ends of the world she'd sometimes imagine herself on one of those adventures. Of course with age she had become wearier with the world and realised that adventures didn't always play out as the tales made them to. "But are they true?"

The wizard had gotten out his pipe and some weed – Southern Star from the Southfarthing - and began blowing rings in green, blue and yellow that flew out into the sky. He offered her some of his pipe weed but she declined, not being much of a smoker.

"Yes, I guess they are," he then spoke and Eleara knew by the look he gave her that there was definitely more to come. "I travelled to the forest of Mirkwood and to the shores of the Long Lake because I too heard a rumour." He paused. "Some claim that Thrain son of Thror was seen alive near the Lonely Mountain."

Eleara spit into the grass. "That fool is still alive? I thought he had lost his wits long ago and his live shortly afterwards."

Gandalf gave her a reproachful frown. "Indeed some say he went mad and others that he died in poverty. But he possessed something that I needed, something of great value."

"And he gave it to you? I'm surprised that a Dwarf should part with his property."

Gandalf waited for her to finish before he spoke again, this time in a far more serious tone. "My dear, I have a proposition I think you will quite like. There is much to be gained by it if all goes well and if not...well, it will certainly make for a good story."

This made her ears perk up. "What are you speaking of?"

He inclined his head and again let out a smoke ring, its misty blue vanishing in the distance. "There will be a gathering in two days time up in Hobbiton. I will give you the address and I will leave a sign upon the door so you may find the house." He eyed her again, indicating that she would gain nothing by refusing him. "It would do you good to come but keep yourself in the shadows. No one must see you."

She sighed deeply. She never liked it when he became all secretive but there was no point in arguing. If Gandalf requested her presence then he surely had a reason for it. And if there was something to be 'gained'...

"I will be there."

And so she found herself two days later in front of a green door. She grunted in amusement when she sighted the sign Gandalf had talked of. It stood for _Burglar wants a good job, plenty of Excitement and reasonable Reward_, but Eleara was certain there lived no burglar in that house. A hobbit hole was the last place one would look for an expert treasure-hunter. She gazed around but caught no sight of the wizard. What now? He had told her to hide but the garden was much too small and did not offer any realistic hiding places. Oh well, the roof would have to do then.

Just as she had settled on the grassy roof her ears caught noise coming from within the hole. They were...singing? Indeed they were and it sounded merry, almost comical. What had Gandalf been thinking by summoning her there?

As she listened to the men's voices her eyes caught on a dark figure in the night. He came closer, his heavy boots clinking as he followed the path. When he approached the house Eleara realised that he was a dwarf, with raven hair and beard. She stood as still as she could, too afraid to breathe lest he should look up and see her. Her outfit was dark enough to conceal her in the darkness. What she could not discern in the dim light were his features, try as she might.

He knocked on the door and instantly the noise inside the hole died away. Whoever he was, he had been expected.

She tried to listen as his companions let him in. She only caught a fraction of what was being said, a few snippets here and there before the door was shut again. But she had heard his name pronounced by Gandalf - Thorin Oakenshield.

She no longer wondered about Gandalf's invitation. There was no doubt what his intentions were. These were no ordinary dwarves but survivors from Erebor. And their leader was no other than Thror's own grandson and heir. That wretched wizard! He had not told her on purpose because he knew that if he had she would've declined without a moment's hesitation.

For more than just a second she considered climbing down from her hide-out and simply walking away. He could not ask this of her, however dear a friend he was to her. No, she had no business with any dwarves and especially with the dwarves of Erebor. But she did not move. She wondered what was going on inside and what plans would be formed that night.

Just beneath her a window was opened and she could follow the company's conversation.

"I'm not afraid. I'm up for it. I'll give him a taste of dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!"

"The task would be difficult with an army behind us but we number just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best nor brightest."

"We may be few in number, but we're fighters, all of us, to the last dwarf."

What she heard she didn't like at all. Everyone knew the songs and tales. The Lonely Mountain was no subject of jokes, yet what they were discussing sounded nothing but utterly ridiculous. By now she knew they were thirteen dwarves, one wizard and perhaps they'd be joined by a hobbit who sounded just as confused as could be expected of someone who had perhaps never ventured further than Willowbottom in his entire life. With or without the hobbit, they were hardly the stuff of legends. And they really thought they could reclaim Erebor? Ha! The dragon would roast them before they even reached the mountain.

And yet she listened, trying to understand why Gandalf had wanted her to hear of their plan.

It was late into the night when the sound of singing again echoed from the structure beneath her. This time it was no merry chant; more like a lament. Their low voices buzzed in the moonlight, carrying hopes and fears.

_Far over the misty mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away ere break of day_

_To seek the pale enchanted gold. _

_The pines were roaring on the height,_

_The winds were moaning in the night._

_The fire was red, it flaming spread;_

_The trees like torches blazed with light._

_The bells were ringing in the dale_

_And men looked up with faces pale;_

_The dragon's ire more fierce than fire_

_Laid low their towers and houses frail._

From her point of view they were on a suicide mission.

Of course she had heard what had happened to Dale that day. Many a life the dragon fire had claimed then and that was precisely why she couldn't understand. Why would someone in their right mind risk so much for some piles of treasure and a giant rock?

It was hours later when everybody in the house had settled down for the night that Gandalf stepped outside to join her.

"What was that head of yours thinking?" was the first thing she hissed. "Dwarves? From Erebor? Suicidal dwarves from Erebor? I have better things to do with my life."

"You call scavenging the land in search of food and shelter better things?" he replied, but although his tone was hard his eyes looked softly upon her with anger flushed face.

"What do you want me to do? To play their baby-sitter? They have you for protection, should their common sense fail." Something she thought all too likely. Only someone without sense would take to the road on a quest that was futile. But Gandalf surprised her again.

"This is precisely what I need you to do." Upon seeing her obvious bafflement he thought it necessary to explain. "I won't always be with them for there are things, things that should better not be spoken of, even in these parts, things that will lead me away for certain periods of time. I need someone who can spare an eye. A plan B if the need arises and I fear it will for their path will lead to many dangers."

"And I shall accompany them to the Lonely Mountain? Are you mad?" Eleara puffed. "So, what shall I do? Walk in and introduce myself as the newest member? Yes, I bet they will be delighted to have a female and stranger travelling along."

That reproachful stare again. She knew she might be raging too much about the whole matter but she really couldn't understand why her of all people. There were professional body-guards for hire!

"No, they will not. And that is why I ask of you to follow them in secret. Don't show yourself under any circumstances. Thorin and company are too excitable as it is. They mustn't be aware they are being watched, even if it is for their own good."

More secrets. "But Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror? You ask too much of me." Her hand flew to her temple, massaging the skin in a vain attempt to better the ever growing headache.

"Am I?" There was a long pause where their eyes locked. Gandalf had the talent to speak to others just through his eyes and Eleara noticed with dread that her resolve shrank. She was thinking of the gains he had mentioned, the gold and jewels. She could certainly use some. A pony wouldn't be too- Oh!

"I see that you will not be persuaded. Still, thank you for coming." He was already turning when she spoke the words she would undoubtedly come to regret.

"Alright. Alright, I'll do it."


	3. The Road

**A/N: Finally back with an update. And don't worry yet - there's more action to come soon. You might notice that occasionally I will borrow lines from the movies or the book. Whatever you recognise isn't mine but Eleara is completely my creation. So please read and leave a comment. Every feedback/follower is welcome and appreciated.**

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><p>They set out shortly after day break. Gandalf had left her some seed cakes, two slices of bread and cheese wrapped in a dotted blanket outside on a bench. This would have to do for the time being for she suspected there wouldn't be frequent stops, judging by the dwarves' eagerness to get going. How no one had noticed him smuggling food out for her lay beyond her comprehension. No wonder Gandalf felt it necessary for them to have someone to look after them. Their heads were too full of ancient tales and songs to see what was happening in their surroundings.<p>

After the previous night she did not get the chance to speak to the wizard again. Before the break of dawn she went to hide in a nearby garden, watching thoughtfully when they came out of the hobbit hole. Eleara would wait until they built a certain distance and then follow behind, always cautious so they wouldn't notice her. Then again, the incident with the food proved how unlikely it was they should see her were she to jump beside them in a scarlet red hood and start yelling out profanities.

Still, there was no need to risk her cover.

As they stepped outside into the ever rising sunlight Eleara watched their faces go by with no small interest. Some were young and some old, but from what she could discern there were less than a handful of warriors among them. She almost felt pity for them, especially the young ones for they almost undoubtedly had mothers awaiting their safe return. She wondered if some wouldn't make it.

Then her eyes fell upon Thorin, the last to exit. Even though she had been very young she could still remember Thror's stone features and the same cold eyes graced now the face of his grandson. No, Thorin Oakenshield would not tolerate someone like her in his company. Those eyes held no traces of mercy. One could kill with such a stare!

They mounted their ponies and Gandalf his horse and Eleara began counting the seconds they brought between them and her. But letting her mind pass over the many faces she faltered. Where was the hobbit? Had her eyes deceived her or had they actually just left behind their burglar?

What was his name again? Something...Bilbo, that's right! Should she wake him? After all she was supposed to make sure all members were save and together. Did Gandalf expect her to wake him? She rose slightly behind her hide-out and stole a peak into the house.

Nothing.

Then a groan coming from one of the rooms at the back, then the sound of a door opening. He would be alright, she told herself. At least he was awake and if he did indeed intend to follow the dwarves then he surely could manage to follow the hoof prints they had left behind in the soft earth. She had to start going though. The hobbit may know the lands around his hobbit hole like the back of his head but she certainly did not.

It didn't take her long to catch up with the group, even with the disadvantage of having only her own two feet for transport. Eleara did not worry about that last part. She was used to walking great distances and did not mind the exercise even if she sometimes wished for a pony. If not for practical help then at least for company.

"You think he'll come?" she heard one of them saying. His name she did not know but he was the only one wearing a hat...in mid-May. She scratched the back of her head wondering at the fur trimming of the odd accessory. Wasn't he feeling warm?

"Nah, I'd say we scared him off," another answered him - a tall dwarf, his bald head covered in blue tattoos and unkempt beard, which altogether gave him quite an intimidating appearance. "Tis probably for the best."

Eleara had to bite down on her tongue to keep herself from snorting angrily. Of course it was for the best. There was no need for them to drag innocent folk into their mad venture but at least they could have had the decency to wait until he'd woken up.

"You want to wager? I bet seven coins we've seen the last of that halfling."

"I accept the wager!" One of the younger ones shouted, a lad with dark hair and short stubble.

"Nah, I agree with Dwalin," another said.

"And I think you're wrong, Glóin." The one with the hat shook his head.

Eleara was appalled. So this was how they treated their allies?

"I said it. Didn't I say it? Coming here was a waste of time." Several voices grumbled in agreement.

Their complaints were interrupted by someone shouting.

"Wait! Wait!" To her astonishment and certainly to that of some dwarves it was none other than Bilbo Baggins, in his hand the contract they had presented him with the night before.

"I signed it!" he grinned whilst running the last metres. A very old looking dwarf with snow white hair and beard took the contract and eyed the signature.

And just like that they accepted him with open arms.

Eleara just shook her head. One look at Gandalf showed to her not so great surprise that he was indeed very pleased with Bilbo. He had obviously known he'd come.

The hours dragged on. They were going slow and soon she grew bored. To make the time go by she began counting the trees lining their path, then the birds she saw, then the leaves she stepped on with her boots and then went back to trees.

Then she focussed on the group and their conversations. By now she knew half the names. The roundest was called Bombur; then there was Dwalin – the bald warrior –, the white-haired Balin, Bofur with his hat and Bifur, who only spoke in Khuzdul. She had heard the names Kili and Fili too, almost certain they belonged to the young pair of brothers. But try as she might, Eleara could not tell which name belonged to whom and she figured it would take her some time to remember the correct matches.

Bilbo was eyeing his pony, his lips pursed as he tried to keep his balance on the friendly beast. "How long do you think it will take to reach the Lonely Mountain?"

Much laughter answered him but there were some faces amongst the group that apparently didn't think the question a laughing matter at all.

Eleara rolled her eyes. They'd be lucky indeed if they made it to the mountain at all. There was a reason why no one dared travelling through the northern lands these days. The chances of getting killed by goblins or other strange creatures lay by approximately eighty percent.

And of course she wouldn't have to mention the gigantic dragon guarding Erebor.

Dwarves! Mahal, curse their stubbornness!

As she had expected they did not make any stops and with every hour that passed the hobbit's face grew more and more sour. He began murmuring of his armchair and his fireplace, his now-empty pantry and his library, but he did not turn around and that she had to give him credit for. It would take them another day to reach the Shire borders and Eleara sighed, fully aware that then the easy part of their journey would come to an end. The sun was gradually approaching the far hill tops and the sky took on an orange hue. Soon it would be dark and there was no way they could journey by night.

Eleara was beginning to feel a light breeze graze the back of her neck and imagined herself wrapped up in her old wool blanket on a patch of dry earth. The dwarves grew weary and their speech became tinged with fatigue.

About half an hour later they passed by a small glade. "We will camp here for the night." Thorin raised his hand to indicate for the others to halt their ponies.

They all dismounted and a grunt or two could be heard; some complained about sore bottoms. She rolled her eyes at that but the corners of her lips turned upwards nonetheless. Her feet two were tired but dwarves of course were not a people that often took to riding. They would get used to it. She searched the woods for a nice spot in safe distance to the fire they were just building. Gandalf hadn't said anything about watching over them in their sleep and so she looked forward to a good night's rest.

She found one between two ancient trees and spread out her blanket. It was slowly getting cool but there was no way she could light up a fire of her own without anyone noticing. Then again, they had yet to convince her of that all-praised Dwarvish alertness. Speaking of which...reaching into her bag her fingers found one of the seed-cakes Gandalf had left her that morning. It wasn't fresh anymore but she nonetheless enjoyed the sweet treat. Munching lazily, she began watching her companions again. It was odd thinking of them as companions. She had not travelled with company for many years. She would need to think of a better word.

What an odd bunch they were. She had never come across a noisier group of people. One had brought his flute along – she guessed it was Bofur but could not see all too clear through the maze of trees over to their camp. He began to play and the soft and playful melody lulled her in until her eyelids grew heavy and finishing her spartanic dinner she made herself comfortable on the thick blanket and almost instantly fell asleep.

The next morning she was the first to rise, with the exception of Gandalf naturally. Or so she thought. A quick glance towards the camp showed her he was talking to someone who was taken from her vision by a thick tree trunk. Should she or should she not?

Ah, come! No one would see her. For one the sun was just about to rise and the light from the dying fire was not strong enough to make her stand out from her dark background. So she dared take a few steps closer and then another few until she could follow the conversation with ease.

"You know my reasons," Thorin said to him and from his tone she could discern he was not at all pleased. She guessed it must be him as for some reason she could not quite connect that grumpy face with a late riser, though she suspected more behind his dark demeanour than a simple lack of sleep. A little voice inside her head mocked that it was probably in his blood.

She sharpened her ears for it seemed they were having an argument of some sorts.

Gandalf frowned deeply. "Lord Elrond is wise enough to refrain from sticking his nose anywhere and kind enough to offer shelter. You will face enough dangers as it is; there is no need for making the route uncomfortable from the start."

"I will not discuss this with you. My answer is no." And with that Thorin Oakenshield all but stormed off as the rest of his companions began to stir. Eleara didn't notice she had been holding her breath until the wizard had turned slightly to the pair of oaks she had been hiding behind and nodded at her with deep eyes.

"He will see reason sooner or later," he breathed and although to any onlooker it would have appeared as if he'd talked to himself, the words were directed at Eleara.

So Gandalf had tried to persuade Thorin to pass through Rivendell. The name of Elrond Half-elven was well known and she felt excitement tingle in her fingers at the thought of Elves for she had never been to any of their realms. She was however also aware of the deep dislike that ruled between Dwarves and Elves and so her hopes of seeing any of the Eldar soon dissolved.

The group was finally up on their feet and after a quick breakfast they continued on their path. The journey went much like it had the day before. The last hobbit residences and inns passed by. Now they had gone far into the Lone-lands and there were no people passing them anymore and no inns. The road grew steadily worse.

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><p><strong>Follow me on Twitter under irinazure1422 for info about my writing progress and more.<strong>


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